


Betwixt

by Heatherlly



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlly/pseuds/Heatherlly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of character exploration regarding Jon Snow's uncertain position at Winterfell, along with factors that might have led to him joining the Night's Watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betwixt

**Title:** Betwixt  
 **Category:** Gen (Canon)  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Jon Snow  
 **Rating/Warnings:** K+  
 **Summary:** A bit of character exploration regarding Jon Snow's uncertain position at Winterfell, along with factors that might have led to him joining the Night's Watch.

* * *

**Betwixt**

A life measured in halves. That was the truth of Jon Snow's existence.

Half a brother, and not only in the literal sense. Half a son, to a father who withheld as much as he provided. Half highborn, which was enough to be granted certain courtesies, yet not a sufficient pedigree to claim them as his right.

Sometimes, Jon wondered if he might have been better off if Eddard Stark had taken the less honorable route and left him with his mother, the faceless stranger he couldn't even put a name to. Perhaps he'd be more secure in her world, rather than constantly feeling as if he were being pulled in opposing directions like he did in Winterfell. Even if she'd only been a whore, unable to offer him opportunities beyond the life of a common laborer, that would've at least given him a clear identity. Being poor and insignificant didn't seem so bad when considering the simple honesty of such an existence.

Life was far more complicated as the openly acknowledged bastard of a high lord, particularly when raised among that lord's trueborn children. There was a clear purpose in the teaching and training his half siblings received as they grew – reading and writing, lessons on the lineages of important families, and careful tutelage in proper etiquette... all the necessary preparations for a lifetime of interaction with others of their station. And for the boys, there were endless hours spent on swordplay, archery, and other combat techniques... all the finer arts of warcraft that every proper leader should excel at.

Robb would be Lord of Winterfell himself someday, responsible for the command of thousands of bannermen who'd rally to his side in times of conflict. Bran and Rickon would maintain proud holdfasts in Winterfell's name, bound to similar obligations as their elder brother, if on a smaller scale. The girls would use the fine graces they'd been taught to make grand marriages to high lords who'd serve as strong allies in the future... all to further the only cause that truly mattered to anyone who bore the name of Stark.

Winterfell.

It was all for Winterfell.

But where did that leave Jon? To what end could he use the fine education he'd received along with his half brothers and sisters? There certainly wasn't any inheritance waiting for him, no place among the high lords or even in their service in any significant way. He was a bastard; although he valued the advantages he'd been given, it had become increasingly obvious as he'd grown into a man that he'd been prepared for a life that would never be his to claim.

Always halves. The tutelage granted to a young lordling, all while knowing he'd never be able to enjoy the benefits of those teachings. The pride of a father that must only be acknowledged with the utmost caution in order to avoid further tension within the household. The companionship of siblings whom he loved as dearly as any trueborn brother could have done, yet couldn't fully claim as his own. 

Even the Stark blood that so obviously flowed through his veins must be forsaken as an open part of his identity.

Still, Jon might have been able to ignore the feeling of only half belonging if it weren't for Lady Catelyn's barely suppressed resentment. These dismal thoughts rarely dominated his mind when sparring with Robb, nor when he was helping Bran with his training or playing with little Rickon. It never occurred to him to think of himself as an outsider when he was busy mussing Arya's hair and calling her "little sister."

But then _she_ would freeze him with one of her cutting looks, the mother who belonged to everyone but him, and he'd remember who he _really_ was... nothing but a bastard, a shameful reminder of his father's infidelity. And then he'd be forced to remind himself that cherished moments of feeling as if he truly belonged were no more than stolen luxuries... the pleasant but ultimately temporary side effect of a sinner's guilty conscience, not a genuine privilege he'd ever be able to claim as a right of birth.

Thoughts of his future within the Stark clan were incredibly disheartening for Jon if he allowed himself to dwell on them for too long, which he tried his best not to do. What was the point? In the end, there was no changing his circumstances anyway. So as soon as he was old enough to understand the nature of things, he'd decided to simply make the most of the advantages he was given within the confines of Winterfell until the time came when he must inevitably choose another path. 

He applied himself determinedly to tiresome books and dreadfully boring history lessons, just in case they might prove useful someday. Devoting himself to the art of combat proved a far more pleasant challenge; he honed his skills to a level not even Robb could hope to match. There was no holding back in anything he chose to do; with no way of knowing what the future might bring, it only made sense to use the time and resources he had at his disposal in order to prepare for unknown opportunities that may not have presented themselves as of yet. 

But as manhood swiftly approached, the various fragments of possible futures shattered beneath the growing weight of a single dream, becoming ever more vivid with the passing of time. Was the idea of taking the black _really_ that inviting... or did Jon exaggerate its appeal in his mind for no other reason than it was the only _definite_ amidst at least a dozen 'maybes' he'd considered... the _one_ path he might choose where he couldn't be turned away?

It was a question that wouldn't occur to him for many years, long after he'd settled into his life on the Wall. For the time being, it was the stuff of hopeful fantasies that eventually solidified into reality in his mind. Jon Snow. Ranger. Bound by oath to honorable service within the ancient order of the Night's Watch... the one place he might be valued for his prowess, despite his shameful origins. He spent many a night dreaming of grand adventures beyond the Wall, a succession of fascinating quests where he'd discover for himself whether any of Old Nan's wild tales were true.

His decision had already been made, long before his Uncle Benjen tried to speak to him of sacrifice, of everything that would no longer be possible if he chose to follow in the footsteps of countless others who'd had to learn the hard way that the reality was something quite different from the life they'd imagined. Parting from his siblings wasn't easy by any means, yet Jon was comforted by the assurance that the close bonds they'd shared wouldn't be possible for much longer anyway, as they grew into adults and their worlds began to change. 

There was no room for doubt, for fear or regret, no need to pause and consider the alternatives as he bid a wistful yet determined farewell to his childhood home. No, the only thought in Jon's mind as he journeyed North to take the black was the overwhelming hope that he was finally about to discover what it meant to feel whole.


End file.
